


Roses and Bluebells

by wynniethepooh



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, flowershop!AU, kbl2015, kblreversebang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynniethepooh/pseuds/wynniethepooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine and Kurt work for rival florists in this "Gnomeo and Juliet" retelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses and Bluebells

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the kblreversebang 2015! The artwork is absolutely gorgeous, and I am so thankful to have had a chance to work with Leo (dressedupinlights on tumblr). This was just the best, thank you!

There’s something wrong with that morning’s delivery of roses. Kurt notices it almost immediately. Their scent is kind of wrong, and even though he hadn’t been working at Fantastique Florals for very long, he had become immediately familiar with the way each of the scents filled the small workspace. These roses don’t really smell at all. Scentless roses. They had provided them with scentless roses, when they should have been the most fragrant cuttings in the store. 

“Hell,” he grumbles to himself as he makes his way to the back of the store, where they hold the receival records and where his boss is leaned over pages of accounts. “Marty, they delivered scentless roses.”

“Shit.” Martinique tosses down her pen and looks up at Kurt. “You serious? Again?” She’s only young, a short, fiery red head, but she wears the grime of potting mix and her florists apron like she had been wearing them her whole life. Fantastique was her creation, but she’d been working in florists since she was twelve, sweeping floors and making deliveries.

“Yeah. Can’t they smell the difference?”

Marty shakes her head. “Those idiots in freight don’t know a thing about flowers, Kurt. They’re just lackeys for the bigger man, and they hate it. I think they’re perfectly happy to screw us over. But I’ll call the company and see if we can get a discount on the stock. If they freaking gave us what we ordered,” she complains to herself in an undertone, before turning to the phone on the wall and pressing the number on speed dial. This company had been screwing up for the past few weeks, and the speed dial decision had been an easy one.

Kurt moves back into the store. He is supposed to be making up bouquets for the window display, but without the scent from the roses, he isn’t sure what he wants to put in them. Displays are inherently meant to involve all senses: sight, touch, and smell. Without one of them, the whole thing is just thrown off. He wants people to be able to pass the store window and experience that perfectly balanced bouquet and to be unable to resist coming in to buy a similar one for their loved one.

No one was going to buy the freaking scentless roses.

“How was the morning shift?” Ezra is one of the delivery boys, and Kurt is pretty sure he has a crush on him, because whenever he comes in to pick up orders, he small talks with Kurt and leans all over his counter. He’s pretty sure Ezra has picked up more about floristry being a delivery boy than doing the course that Kurt had to sit through.

“Great. They delivered scentless roses again.”

“Oh, shit. Is Marty having an aneurism out back?”

“Pretty much." 

“I bet it’s Holloway’s across the road. They’re probably paying off the delivery guys to deliberately screw up. Messing with the competition and all that.”

Kurt shakes his head, but honestly he wouldn’t be surprised. Fantastique and Holloway’s did not get along, on the basic principle that they were in direct competition with each other. There was almost always some kind of unspoken battle going on between the two stores. This week, there had been talk among the other staff that it was going to be a battle of the window display. Which would be great if they’d actually delivered roses with scent. Kurt could rock a killer window display.

He leans his elbows against the counter and stares at the selection of flowers in front of him and sighs. “Screw it.” He pulled on his gloves and returned all the roses to their tubs. “Better start from scratch.”

* 

Across the road, at Holloway’s Florist, there was a whole different kind of problem going on. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that no customers had dawdled in, because the staff was being far less than decorous.

“Did you really pay off the delivery guy?” Blaine was practically yelling at his second in charge, Hannah. He was store manager for the day, with the boss out looking at possible expansion locations, and he had not prepared himself for this much bullshit so early in the morning. “You know you have no authority to make decisions like that, and anyway, I’m sure there’s some important law against it!”

Hannah was not Blaine’s favorite staff member on a good day, but she had managed to get herself on his nerves nice and early, so it was only probably going to go down hill. “It’s not like they’re gonna know it’s us.”

“Isn’t it pretty obvious?” Blaine barks, and then covers his mouth with his hand. “Hannah, can you please just stay in the backroom, and out of my way as much as possible?”

She shot him an ugly look but made her way into the back room to work on orders. It didn’t help that she had been working for Mrs. Holloway long before he had joined the team, and she was forever annoyed that he had jumped the ranks to manager over the top of her.

But Blaine was manager in Mrs. Holloway’s absence because he was a professional, and he knew how to do his job effectively. And he actually enjoys it, which is more than can be said for Hannah.

Blaine pulls flowers out of tubs as he keeps an eye on the front door, selecting some key pieces for his window display. Hyacinth and hydrangeas, lilacs and irises. It is a nice mix of the dark blue and purple and he makes the bouquet up into something large and far too complex to really be useful. That was the key to window displays; they should be that beautiful that their logical use is entirely ignored.

When he is happy with his work, he ties up the bouquet with a matching ribbon and hangs it from the display holder in the window, pride of place. He peers through the window as he secures it carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of the window display across the road. But they hadn’t prepared there’s yet, or it was at least still in the works. Probably because they had to find an alternative to the now scentless roses. They sure did like to use a lot of roses in their work.

*

It’s almost midday by the time Kurt is finally happy with his display, which is far, far too late. The scentless roses were definitely a setback, and when he saw what Holloway’s had put in their window, he’d had to change even more of his bouquet. A window display had to be unique and eye catching, and his plan had been far too like the Holloway’s bouquet to meet that requirement. 

“Are you still working on the display?” Marty asks as she emerges from the back room with a coffee in hand. She looks a mess, which isn’t surprising considering the morning she’s had on the phone with suppliers.

“Yeah, I’m not getting outshone by those idiots across the road.”

“That’s the spirit.” She gives him a tight little smile and sips her coffee. “I wish I had the time nowadays to do displays.”

Kurt shakes his head. “Just get someone in to do accounts, Marty.”

“It’s too expensive.”

“Doing it yourself costs you too much happiness.”

She shoots him a look, like she’s sick of him discussing such existential concepts as happiness, but she doesn’t argue. He’s right and she knows it. “It just costs too much,” she says after a pause and downs the last half of her mug of coffee in one go before turning back to the back room.

Kurt watches her leave as he maneuvers his bouquet into the window. It’s mostly pinks and yellows, bright and vibrant. There are dahlias and peonies and morning glories, and he nestled between their pink buds, young daffodils, with their petals barely open. When he compares it to the dark purples and blues in the display over the road, it certainly stands out. He almost pats himself on the back, but realizes just in time that it is probably a very cocky move.

When he’s done, he settles down behind the counter and begins perusing the orders, making up the described bouquets for Ezra to deliver or the customers to pick up. He falls into the monotony of it, collecting and trimming flowers and then wrapping them in plastic of ribbon. Most of the bouquets are small, and give very little room for creative interpretation or flair. He tries not to complain though. He has it much easier than Martinique, stuck back in accounts.

He collects and he cuts and he wraps and waits for his lunch break to roll around.

* 

Blaine normally brings his own lunch to work, but his apartment had been frustratingly devoid of food this morning. He hadn’t been grocery shopping in far too long, and he should have bought more bread and salad vegetables but he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. He was an idiot. And he had slept in that morning, and hadn’t had a chance to grab a sandwich before work.

A proper lunch break it would have to be. In a busy café. Where they were probably out of roast beef salad sandwiches. And where he would probably have to wait in line for more than half of his break.

When the hour clicks over he motions for Hannah to take over the front desk, which she does with a sigh and not enough enthusiasm for someone who desperately wants his position. He grabs his coat from the back room buries into its warmth as he steps out into the cold New York street. There is a café just up the street from work, but he can see the line from where he’s standing and it’s out the door. Instead he finds himself turning in the opposite direction and walking aimlessly towards what will hopefully be a café with a few less people in it.

When he finds it he lets out a whoop and almost physically jumps for joy. He can see through the clear open windows – there is not a hint of dinge at all – and the line is blissfully short. And the food looks amazing. He pushes his way through the swinging door and moves purposefully towards the front of the line.

Blaine had had his mind fixed on a roast beef salad roll, but looking at the selections in the fridge cabinet, his taste buds begin to explore possibilities. There’s a selection of sandwiches of course, but then there are also pastries and quiches and his eyes fall on a delicious looking pot of eggplant bake.

“A caramel mocha and the eggplant bake please,” he says to the waitress behind the counter, handing over a bill. She looks at him and shakes her head. “Sorry, all out of the eggplant, that ones got a customers name on it.”

Damn. There goes that idea of deliciousness. Even as he turns back to the cabinet he sees another waitress pulling it out and prepping it onto a plate.

“Salad roll then?” he says, but it comes out more like a question. The waitress takes his money and he takes his table number to select a seat over by the window, scanning the few other customers for whoever had stolen his delicious eggplant bake.

As Blaine sets his table number down, his eyes settle on the one customer in the café who does not immediately appear like he should be there. He is dressed in jeans and heavy boots, and a lot of layers on the top half. Layer, after layer, after layer. Blaine thinks he can spot a shirt, a t-shirt, a sweater, a coat and a scarf. And the heater is even going in the café.

But that’s not really what makes the man stand out compared to the rest of the clientele. Clothing options aside, somehow he manages to hold his whole body differently, like he’s on the rush from somewhere to someplace new, and that this café is only a pit stop. It kind of reminds Blaine of how he feels, and he’s not sure he’s ever experienced that before. Posture reminding him so eloquently of an emotional state of being? Is he turning into a poet? Goddamnit, no, he just trims and arranges flowers.

And then he notices the man’s hands. Long and lean and covered in little nicks and scars just like Blaine’s. Florist’s hands.

Blaine picks up his table number and moves towards the man.

“Hey,” he says, and holds out his hands in some kind of awkward conversation starter. “Are you a florist, because I feel like those hands speak to me on a spiritual level of pain.”

The man laughs and holds up his own hands. “Oh, yeah, the amount of thorns I’ve cut myself on is ridiculous. My name’s Kurt.” He has a wide-open smile and a trusting face and Blaine finds himself pointing to the spare seat opposite him awkwardly.

“Would you mind if I sat and had a chat. I don’t meet many florists outside of work. Blaine,” he says, almost as an afterthought, and holds out his hand to shake. Kurt takes it and then nods.

“I’m just on a quick lunch break, but feel free, we might as well give the waitstaff less tables to clean." 

Blaine places his table number down beside Kurt’s and sits. “So how long have you been working as a florist, Kurt?” he asks. Normal, easy questions. New acquaintance questions. It isn’t lost on Blaine that he feels as if he has known Kurt for a long time. The way his mouth moves, the lines in the corners of his eyes, somehow seem familiar, yet with a unique quality that Blaine can’t help but ponder over.

He almost misses half of Kurt’s reply. “I’ve been working for about six months, but I’ve been helping out since high school, and was doing unpaid interning while I was finishing my qualifications.”

“Ah, the joys of an unpaid internship.”

“How did you get into floristry?”

“Luck and knowing the right people. Isn’t that how everyone gets jobs nowadays?”

Kurt gives him a knowing half smile. “Pretty much.”

Blaine settles back in his chair and watches Kurt. He’s pretty sure Kurt is watching him. They are watching each other and for a second Blaine wonders how long they have actually been watching. It feels like the kind of moment that could slip into infinity and no one would be the wiser.

And then a waiter is approaching them with two plates and that’s when Blaine sees the eggplant bake.

“You were the one who bought the last eggplant bake?” he asks Kurt with a laugh. “Maybe it was cosmic fate that brought me to your table so I could enact revenge.”

Kurt grins. “Or maybe I overheard you moaning about it to the waitress and sent my telepathic messages to you to come over here so we could share.”

That is a very flirty comment. A _very_ flirty comment, and Blaine can feel it swinging around in his stomach along with the butterflies that have taken nest.

Kurt grabs up his own fork and spears into the eggplant bake. He takes his mouthful and then shoves the plate into the center of the table where Blaine can reach it.

“You sure?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah. I’ll steal half your sandwich if I’m still hungry.”

And then somehow they are sharing a meal. Literally, sharing a meal of eggplant bake and then half of the sandwich Blaine purchased each. They banter back and forth, simple and easy and when both plates are empty, Blaine rests his fork down gently and leans back in his chair.

“I don’t really want to go back to work right now,” he says.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kurt replies with a smile. “But alas, I need the paycheck.” He stands up and cocks his arm out, as if waiting for Blaine to take it. He looks at that arm, and then back up at Kurt’s face, and he is smiling. “Come on, we’ll walk together, or at least as far as we can go.”

So they walk, out of the café and on to the street and towards Holloway’s. Where did Kurt work? They were getting closer and closer, and still Kurt makes no motion to move away and take a different direction. Had he decided to walk Blaine all the way to the shop and then continue on?

And then they were turning the corner onto the block and Kurt moves to cross the street.

“Oh,” Blaine says softly, and it’s practically a grasp of realization.

“Oh?” Kurt echoes back at him and then he looks at Blaine’s face. “Oh.”

“You’re from Fantastique.”

“And you’re from Holloway’s. Are you the one that’s been stealing the roses for my window display?”

Blaine shakes his head, but he’s still staring, eyes roving between Kurt and the sign for Fantastique Florals just up the road. “You do the window displays?”

“Have we been competing against each other for far longer than the eggplant bake today?” Kurt asks and his voice is innocent and light. It draws Blaine back in and he finds himself with all his attention of the curve of Kurt’s smile.

“I wasn’t the one hijacking your roses, that was my obnoxious second in command and I keep telling her to stop. But I do the window displays.”

“Blaine of the Holloway’s window display.” Kurt rolls it over on his tongue. “It suits you, I think.”

Blaine grins. “I should have known you were from Fantastique. I don’t know why I didn’t assume it. We were at the same café, we can’t have worked far from each other.”

“Yet still.” Kurt tilts his head to the side and runs his fingers down the inside of Blaine’s arm, pressing into his elbow. “I hadn’t even considered the possibility.”

It’s like they are spellbound, staring at each other, and their lunch breaks are almost certainly slipping away form them but Blaine isn’t sure he even remembers how to breathe. 

But then Kurt is turning away and pressing the button for the pedestrian crossing. “I really should get back to work,” he says over his shoulder. “Marty will crack a fit if I’m not back in time.”

Blaine doesn’t even know who this Marty is, but Kurt is still smiling at him, even if it has faded slightly. So he stands at the corner and waves as Kurt rushes across the street and in to Fantastique Florals.

What a strange coincidence. Weird. Really weird. Fate kind of weird. If Blaine believed in that kind of thing.

*

Ezra’s truck arrives out the front of Fantastique and Kurt bundles up the orders that are due for delivery over the afternoon. There’s only a small collection – most bouquets are delivered in the mornings – but he had put a lot of time and effort into some of those pieces and it almost hurt a little bit to let them go. It was always like this. Kurt had a fondness and attachment to the flowers that he arranged.

“So what do you have on the menu for this afternoon?” Ezra asks as he stacks the flowers into his crate. “Anything to work on?”

Kurt laughs. “There’s always something to work on. Maybe I’ll plan out tomorrow’s window display, or get the bouquet ready for Mrs. Fairweather.” Mr. Fairweather was a regular who came in every day for a bouquet for his wife.

“How was your lunch break?”

The grin Kurt shoots Ezra is sly. “Interesting, for once. I met someone from across the road at a café.”

“Across the road? You mean, Holloway’s?”

Kurt nods. “Yeah, his name is Blaine. He seemed really sweet, we shared the last eggplant bake and had a chat about floristry before I even realized he was a Holloway’s boy.”

“You were flirting with the enemy, weren’t you?” Ezra’s tone is not fun or flirty at all. In fact, he seems a little upset, possibly even angry. “You know they still our stock all the time, and they’re only out to maintain their clientele!”

“Aren’t we all?” Kurt asks, confused, but Ezra is already stacking the last of the bouquets and heading towards the truck.

“You stay away from him, alright!” Ezra calls back. “He’s gonna be trouble. And if I see you with him, I’ll rat to Marty.”

Right, of course. The always successful, tell the boss technique. Kurt feels like he should be more worried, especially with the look Ezra had shot him, but Blaine had seemed so likeable and earnest. Unlike anyone Kurt had ever met, really.

He wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get to know someone who gave him butterflies like Blaine did. There hadn’t been anyone in a long time that had given him butterflies.

*

He barely even sees Marty or Ezra again that afternoon. Ezra pops in right around closing to sign off his timesheet, and not long after, Marty crawls out of her space in the back room and tells Kurt he’s free to go.

“You really need to get back to arranging,” he tells her again, but she only waves her hand at him, the other holding her probably fiftieth cup of coffee. “You’ll start seeing signs of premature aging soon,” he teases and then signs off on his timesheet as well. 

“See you tomorrow, Kurt. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do." 

He grins cheekily. “At least you’re leaving me with a lot of options.” He grabs his coat and pushes out of the door.

Kurt knows he should go straight home. Going straight home would be the smart and intelligent thing to do. But across the street he can see Holloway’s is also closing, and Blaine will probably have to get home too. And for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on – though it probably has something to do with those butterflies – he really wants to see Blaine again. 

So he waits. More than that, he practically lingers, taking the tiniest of steps up the block until he spots Blaine pressing through the front door of Holloway’s. When they are within a reasonable distance he waves and calls out, “Which direction are you going?”

When Blaine looks up at him, his smile is practically a beacon. He points the same way Kurt is walking, and Kurt jaywalks to join him on his side of the road. “Me too,” he says softly once they’re side by side. “Mind if I walk with you?”

Blaine gives him a shy little smile and nods, and together they walk. For a long while they don’t even say anything, the tread of their feet lining up on the sidewalk. Then Blaine is leaning in towards Kurt and speaking softly, barely loud enough that Kurt can hear, let alone anyone else on the streets around them.

“I really enjoyed lunch today.” An easy enough statement. Simple, totally normal. Yet the way Blaine says it, whispered into his ear, feels like a caress.

“Me, too,” Kurt breathes back.

He shouldn’t feel like this. A small voice in the back of his mind calls him a traitor, and that voice sounds a lot like Ezra, but Blaine is aiming a smile his way and it is full of earnest and there is no trace of the enemy in Blaine’s look.

“Just so you know,” he says, “everyone at work told me I was insane.”

Blaine’s eyebrow quirks up. “For having lunch with me?”

“For having lunch with a Holloway’s florist. I told them it wasn’t like that.”

They were approaching the subway station and they made their way down the stairs and through the barrier without discussing their direction or even really moving away from each other. And then they are standing and waiting on the platform for the train to arrive.

“I guess I am the enemy,” Blaine says, and Kurt isn’t sure whether he catches a hint of wistful sadness there.

“I don’t give a shit about who we work for,” Kurt says, slightly louder than he intended, but he grabs Blaine’s hand and holds it tight, twining their fingers together. Blaine grins again when he squeezes. “I loved lunch today. And I’m not gonna give up the way it made me feel for some schoolyard pettiness.” He caught Blaine’s eye. “If you feel the same that is.”

“Oh, I so do,” and then Blaine is leaning towards him as if he’s going to kiss him, their fingers still twined and their bodies so close Kurt can feel his warmth. But then the train is blowing its horn and is there in front of them and the moment is broken. Or at least somewhat broken. He doesn’t draw his hand away.

“How many stops till your place?”

“Four.”

“I’ll stay with you till then.”

And then they are climbing into the car and their hands are still clasped firmly together and from the outside they must look like they have been doing this for a long time. It almost feels that way to Kurt.

Blaine doesn’t try to kiss him again, but Kurt knows he wanted to and that fact makes his blood hum in his veins.

* 

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Hannah’s practically purring herself when Blaine walks through the door of Holloway’s the next morning.

“Look who actually got up at a reasonable hour,” he counters, and she scowls at the insinuation, even though it’s pretty true. Hannah very rarely is at work on time. The fact that she somehow is this morning is extremely suspicious in and of itself. 

“I told Mrs. Holloway about your tryst with the enemy.”

“My…” Blaine doesn’t even really know how to begin the sentence. “What do you mean, my _tryst?”_  

“You went home with Hot Stuff from Fantastique. That’s consorting with the enemy. That’s what I mean by _your tryst.”_ She’s standing behind the counter and there’s a huge stack of orders beside her but it looks as if she’s been putting off her work just to irritate him as soon as he walked through the door.

“You do realize, Hannah, that I don’t even care.”

“Mrs. Holloway cares.” Her smirk was practically a mile wide. She was probably hoping for his managerial position. Like Mrs. Holloway would ever give it to her with the way she carries on and never gets any work done.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks her. “From what I can tell, Mrs. Holloway doesn’t give a shit about what we do, so long as we’re actually _doing our job._ You’re the one that seems to think we have to do battle with Fantastique. And if we must do battle, the way to do it is by doing better flower arrangements and better window displays, not being nasty and stealing their roses.”

She gave him a grin that should have been sheepish, but had none of the apologetic tone. Gosh, sometimes Blaine hated her.

“If Mrs. Holloway has something to say about my behaviour, she can say it to me,” he said, and began collecting flowers from the back room to fill the front space and form the centerpiece of his window display.

* 

When Kurt gets in to work the next morning, the first thing he does it stroll straight through to the back office.

“Hey, Marty,” he calls out. Martinique is curled over her desk and there’s already a cup of coffee in her hand. Maybe he should get her started on some herbal teas, it would surely be healthier for her.

“Oh, hi Kurt.” She looks up from her laptop, and Kurt can see she already looks like she needs ten hours sleep. “How was your night?”

“Great, about that.” It was as good a segue as any, he supposes. “Yesterday, I had lunch with one of the florists from Holloway’s.” She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. “And I think we really hit it off and then last night we walked home together, or at least, quite a bit of the way, and then I’m pretty sure we really did hit it off, and I just wanted to let you know. It has nothing to do with work of course, but I just thought I should tell you.”

He practically has to cover his hand with his mouth to stop any more words from flooding out. She gives him a pointed look. “Ooh, I think Kurt has a bit of a crush.”

“I did say we hit it off.”

She grins wickedly. “Now I really want to meet him.”

“You’re not mad?” he asks.

“That you’re crushing on the competition? Why would I be? He’s an employee not a multimillion dollar soul crushing tycoon.”

Kurt let out a short sharp laugh. “Of course not. Ezra was convinced you’d have a cow.”

“And you believed him?” She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back in her chair.

“Well I came straight to you and didn’t wait for him to tell you what had happened. I thought that was at least the right thing to do regardless of whether or not you were going to give birth to a bovine.”

She laughs out loud at that, practically snorting coffee out of her nose. “Gosh, Kurt, you should know better than assuming I would give birth to a bovine. I’m your hip, relatable employer.”

That was a line they had used numerous times, when explaining to people their work dynamic. Marty was barely three years older than Kurt, and he should have known she wouldn’t have been negative about this experience. They were practically friends. They knew each other better than that.

“You know what, Kurt,” she says. “You seem like you’re really into this guy. You should see where it takes you. I mean, I want to meet him, and I want to judge him by my own standards, but who you date isn’t really my top concern as your boss.”

His insides give a little cheer, and he grins.

“So long as you keep any happenings with the boy outside of our workplace, thank you very much.” She punctuates the end of her sentencing with a spin round on her wheelie chair and then settles back at her desk. “Anything else, my dearest Kurt?”

Kurt grabs a handful of roses – smelly ones, finally! – from the pile tucked just inside the back door and turns to head back out front. He was ready to build his window display.

“Nope, Marty. I think I’m good.”

She grins and takes another large gulp of coffee.

*

Blaine is so excited for his lunch break to arrive that he keeps forgetting to actually get work done. He finishes his window display in record time – a gorgeous array of bluebonnets and white lilies – and he is so proud of it he kind of wants to burst. It reminds him of the feeling of walking beside Kurt on the way home, like he was going to jump out of his skin, but in a good way.

But since finishing the window display he hasn’t completed a single other arrangement. There are plenty of easy orders, but somehow he just can’t make himself focus. He keeps turning his eyes back to the clock.

He doesn’t want to miss Kurt’s lunch break. He had accidentally on purpose forgotten to pack lunch today, and he wanted to be able to walk in to Fantastique’s and surprise Kurt, with the picnic basket he’d ordered from the charcuterie down the road. That wouldn’t work if he didn’t get out on break in time.

“Okay, I’m going on lunch,” he practically yells as the hour clicks over, pulling off his apron.

“Where are you going?” Hannah groans.

“To lunch!”

Blaine races out the door and across the street, barely missing being hit by a taxi. And then he is standing out of the front of Fantastique’s and he can smell all the flowers and the roses from Kurt’s window display. It is bright and red and magically, and it reminds him of beating hearts and thrumming blood, and being alive.

“Kurt,” he says as soon as he’s inside the door. Kurt’s standing there behind the counter, eyes wide. “Do you want to do lunch?”

“Do I-?” And God, he even matches the flowers, in his red pants and contrasting patterned shirt. He looks down at himself, realizing he matches his own window display. That was a cosmic coincidence if ever there was one.

“Lunch?” he asks again. “With me?” He knows he’s not speaking very clearly, he’s too excited for good enunciation, but Kurt is nodding and moving from behind the counter to move into the back room and grab his coat.

“Marty!” he calls out. “Do you mind if I take lunch now?”

Suddenly, a small fiery ball of person is barreling into the front room. “Ooh, is this him? What a hunk.”

Oh, man.

“Marty, this is Blaine, who probably doesn’t appreciate being ogled.”

Blaine shrugs. “I can put up with a bit of ogling if it means I can take you to lunch.”

“Ooh!” Marty says again. “And he’s a flirt, I like him already.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes and moving into his personal space to examine him in in depth detail. Kurt places a hand on her arm and pulls her back.

“I’m sorry, Blaine. Marty needs to learn a respect for personal space, but she’s the boss so I can’t push too hard.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. “Oh. The boss.”

“Yes, I’m Martinique.” She holds a hand and puts on a prissy voice and suddenly Kurt is doubled over laughing. Blaine takes her hand and bows to kiss it and then she is giggling too. “Okay, he’s a keeper,” she says to Kurt. “But don’t let him keep stealing our roses.”

Blaine tries to stammer out an apology. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am, that was my assistant, not me, I try to keep her in check but she has a mean streak that she hides really well in front of the boss-“

But Marty is laughing again. “I trust you, Blaine,” she says.

“What’s going on?” The doorbell chimes and in walks the delivery guy, giving Kurt an angry look. “You brought him in here?”

Blaine turns to watch as Kurt brings himself up to his full height and stares the man down. “Ezra, who I do and do not have lunch with is none of your concern. I’ve run it past Marty, she has no problems, and I don’t expect one single peep of a grumble from you. You’re not my mother.”

Ezra looks stunned. “Right. Of course not. I’m only looking out for you, Kurt. I only have your best interests at heart.”

But Kurt is already turning away and reaching for Blaine’s arm, looping himself into it. “Are you ready to go, Blaine?”

Blaine isn’t at all sure what just happened, but he turns and leads Kurt towards the door. “Yeah, um, I’m good to go. We just have to pick up a picnic basket on the way from the charcuterie down the road-“

They’re practically out the door when they hear Marty call after them, “He really is a winner!”

*

By the time they pick up their meal and make it to the park, their lunch break is already probably half over, but Blaine doesn’t mind Hannah covering for him for a bit, and Kurt seems in no rush to leave, so they eat slowly, chatting over each mouthful.

Blaine has never met someone who he can talk to so openly after knowing them for so little time. Around Kurt, conversation and communication just seems easy, and when Kurt offers him a strawberry from his own hands it seems a little silly but not at all awkward.

It’s the best kind of date, and he doesn’t even know if they will ever get much further than this, casual lunch dates and maybe walking home from work, but he wants to try with Kurt. He wants to put all his effort into pleasing him and enjoying his company.

It seems worth it.

Just before they leave the park, he pulls from the picnic basket a last gift. A pair of roses, one deep red and the other a vibrant bright yellow. “For you, sir,” he laughs and hands the two flowers over, smiling as Kurt inhales their scent.

“They’re perfect, Blaine.”


End file.
